I turn to Kian, who’s looking at me with a knowing smile on his face. “We can tour the whole fucking manor in all its detailed glory. But you’ll still have to face Ma and Da at the end of it.”
I grit my teeth but keep the smile on my face.
I’m not gonna go racing up to Da like the eighteen-year-old brat he no doubt still thinks I am.
No, I’ve lived many lives since I left Dublin. I’m a different man now.
He hurled me from the only life I knew, but I built one elsewhere. The scars I wear now were earned the hard way.
He will not intimidate me.
“As you wish, brother. Let’s go see the old bastard.”
* * *
Kian leads me down the lit hallway that snakes towards the dining room. I can see the light peep through from the thin slit at the bottom of the oak door.
He gestures for me to lead the way. With a grit of my teeth, I shove through the door.
The space is just as large and intimidating as I remember it. Chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, glass doors framing the gardens beyond, ice-cold modern art hung from the walls.
But the sprawling marble dining table takes center stage.
And at the head of that table is my father.
Ma’s standing at his right shoulder. They’re so perfectly placed that it almost looks rehearsed. As though they’re posing for an oil painting and I’ve just barged in and interrupted the process.
For a second, I think Kian has called ahead and informed them that I’m coming with him.
Then Ma’s eyes go wide as they fall on me and I know Kian hasn’t breathed a word.
“Cillian?” she breathes.
“Hey, Ma,” I say, giving her the crooked smile she used to love when I was a boy. “Just as beautiful as I remember.”
I’m not lying, either. Ma has always been beautiful. It’s a different kind of beauty, though. Pared-back. Glacial. Austere.
“My son,” she murmurs as she steps forward.
And then Da raises his hand, and she stops as surely as if he’d yanked on an invisible leash. Her eyes flutter to him. The sentimentality washes off her features.
Leave it to my father to spoil the reunion.
“Da,” I say coldly. I take another step closer, even as Kian falls back.
I’m not about to ask permission to approach. And I’m certainly not about to fall in line like everyone else around him.
That respect was owed to him by the people who called him their don.
He’s not that to me. Not anymore.
“What are you doing in my house?” Da asks, his cold blue eyes boring into mine.
I can see him watching me, taking in every little change that the last thirteen years have wrought on my face and body.
The scars.
The muscle.